


Peace

by elumish



Series: Werewolves 101 [21]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 06:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6893269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elumish/pseuds/elumish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You smell so good.” He moves on to the other ankle, fingers firm, and Stiles drops his head down on the pillow and closes his eyes so he can just feel. “Like orange and burnt sugar and the forest floor. Like happiness.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace

**Author's Note:**

> This is set about a year after War.

Derek slides a hand up Stiles’s ribs, gentle, tracing the edges of the rope crossing around them, and Stiles shudders. He’s almost to the point of being oversensitive, but not quite, a blunt nail across his nipple sending him writhing in the restraints. Or as much writhing as he can do, given that he only has a couple inches’ slack at his feet and almost nothing at his hands.

Derek leans down to press a kiss to his sternum. “Shh, you’re good. You’re so good.” Using his tongue, he traces up to the scarred bite mark on Stiles’s collarbone, dragging his tongue across it, and it burns.

Stiles whimpers against the gag locked around his head, tipping his head back to give Derek easier access to his throat. Which Derek takes advantage of, moving up to suck a bruise at the base of Stiles’s neck. Stiles can feel it blooming under his skin, the blood rising to the surface, and it feels good.

Once the bruise is to Derek’s satisfaction, he drags his nose up the side of Stiles’s throat, ending with his face just over Stiles’s. “Open your eyes.”

Stiles’s eyes pop open, and Derek is close, closer than what it had felt like, and he’s smiling. “I love you.” Stiles nods because he can’t say anything, can’t say it back, and Derek’s smile grows. “I’m going to untie you now.”

Stiles shakes his head, but Derek is already moving down towards his feet, untying the knots at one ankle. He presses his thumbs against the ball of Stiles’s foot, and Stiles arches as pleasure runs through him. “You smell so good.” He moves on to the other ankle, fingers firm, and Stiles drops his head down on the pillow and closes his eyes so he can just feel. “Like orange and burnt sugar and the forest floor. Like _happiness_.” Derek runs a thumb down Stiles’s calf. “I love when you smell like this. I love that I can make you smell like this. I love that you trust me to give this to you.”

His fingers are on Stiles’s abdomen then, undoing the rope there, fingers tracing the path as he undoes it, his touch just firm enough not to tickle. “You should see yourself like this, all pale skin and red lines. Like a work of art.” Stiles twitches at that, because no, not really, and Derek laughs. “See why I always compliment you when you’re gagged and can’t argue back?”

Stiles would glare at him, but his eyelids are heavy, and it’s not worth it, so he settles for humming against the gag.

Derek laughs again. “I could start writing you love poems if you want.” Stiles makes a noise of protest. “Or erotica.”

Now that, that’s an idea.

Derek gets to Stiles’s first wrist, untying it and easing it open, and Stiles tangles stiff fingers with Derek’s. “I’m going to need that hand back to finish untying you.” Stiles shakes his head. “You want me to leave you there with one hand tied up and a gag locked in your mouth?” Stiles nods. “Well too bad.”

And then he slides his fingers out of Stiles’s, moving to untie the other hand and slide it open as well. Then he brushes a piece of hair off of Stiles’s sweaty forehead. “Turn your head away from me. I need to get to the lock.”

Stiles turns his head on the pillow, and Derek starts unlocking the gag. He’s sweated under it—and around it, and everywhere—and it sticks a little coming up from his cheek. “Open your mouth wider.”

Stiles eases his jaw open, and Derek slides the gag out, a trail of spit following after it. Derek sets it aside, then smiles at him. Stiles smiles back, stretching his jaw, then opens his mouth again and says, “Will you marry me?”

Which was not what he had intended to say or when he had intended to ask, and Derek looks frozen, and fuck, fuck, fuck, so Stiles does what he does best and starts babbling. “You don’t have to say yes. I get it if you don’t want to say yes. Because werewolves don’t usually get married. I mean like twenty-seven percent of werewolves get married, except that number goes up to thirty-three when they’re in a relationship with a human. And it’s not like I grew up expecting to get married. Because by the time I was twelve I knew there was a fifty-fifty chance I wouldn’t be able to marry whoever I was in love with, and by the time I was a sophomore I didn’t think I would live to graduate, so my point is that marriage isn’t like a deal breaker for me. Or an anti-deal breaker, as it were. I mean, I’m fine not getting married.” Derek stares at him. “Please say something.”

Derek licks his lips. “You want to marry me?”

“Yes. I mean, I get how that might have been confusing, given my previous monologue, but I do want to marry you. If you want to marry me. If you don’t want to marry me then I don’t want to marry you because it’ll make you unhappy and I don’t want to make you unhappy.”

“Why—”

“Because you’re awesome and I love you and I don’t want to be with anyone else. And there are tax breaks?”

Finally, Derek smiles. “Tax breaks?”

Oh, thank God. “I like tax breaks.”

Derek shifts, the smile falling a little. “I can’t have kids.”

Oh boy. “Can I sit up?” Derek moves enough for Stiles to prop himself up into what could be called sitting if one didn’t understand how sitting worked. “Can you sit next to me?” Derek moves so he’s next to Stiles, arm around Stiles’s shoulders. “That’s fine.”

Derek looks away a little. “I can’t—I can’t be in responsible for something—someone—that doesn’t know its boundaries, that can’t make me stop, that can’t tell me to stop if I need to, that can’t take care of itself when it needs to. I can’t do that.”

“And that’s _fine_.” Stiles puts his hand on Derek’s thigh, and his fingers still kind of hurt, and he doesn’t care. “I don’t need kids. I’m fine not having kids. The pack is like a bunch of children with relationship issues. And if we decided we wanted to later, we could adopt some teenager or something. I’m sure there are teenage werewolves that need father figures. Multiple father figures. God knows Scott did. And if we don’t want to, that’s cool, too.”

Derek looks down at Stiles’s hand. “Are you sure you’re okay giving up having children?”

“It’s no loss to me to not have kids.”

Derek’s lips press tight. “I want us to get married. I want something that you can show people that says that you’re mine.”

Happiness soars in Stiles’s chest, and he turns to give Derek a kiss because he has to, even though the angle is terrible and this is not an optimal way of sitting. “I love you. I love you so much. Thank you. I have a ring.” He pushes up so he can clamor over Derek, dropping down gracelessly onto the floor. He walks over towards the dresser and pulls open the drawer with his socks and other random stuff, rummaging through it. “Lydia told me your ring size, which means it should be right.” He finds the box, pulling it out and turning to look at Derek, who’s staring at him with a look that takes his breath away. Because he’s looking at him like Stiles is the only person in the world. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to start crying, and it’s going to be embarrassing, and you’re still pretty when you cry, but I’m too pale for that, and I look like I’m dying, and I’m already covered in sweat, and I really don’t want to start crying.”

Derek’s smile grows. “You’re still gorgeous when you’re crying.”

“No, I’m not. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I love you.”

And with that, Stiles starts crying, which is ridiculous, because this was already basically the least romantic proposal he could have managed, and Lydia is going to kill him. He keeps walking, though, until his knees hit the bed, and he holds the box out towards Derek. And then he pulls it back. “I didn’t get down on one knee. Should I have gotten down on one knee?”

Derek’s hand closes around the hand with the box. “Can I see the ring?”

Stiles nods, letting Derek take the box from his hand, and through his tears he sees Derek open the box and pull it out. “There’s a chain because I know rings are more likely to cause problems with shifting but if you have a chain that’s long enough—”

“I love it.” Derek slips the chain over his head, the ring settling against his sternum, and he closes one hand around it. With the other hand, he reaches up to cup Stiles’s cheek. “I love it, and I love you.”

“I love you too.” Stiles turns his head to kiss Derek’s palm. “Can we move this lovefest to the shower? I think I have sweat on top of my sweat.”

“Yeah.” Derek stands, lacing his fingers with Stiles’s, and together they walk towards the shower. “Now I need to get you a ring, too.”

Stiles grins at him, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Now I feel like you’re just marrying me so you can show everyone else who I belong to.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“I’m kidding. And really, I don’t mind it. I want to be able to show everyone, too.” Derek leans over to turn on the shower, and something hits Stiles; he starts laughing.

“What?”

“I was just thinking—I, a bisexual male human, am planning to marry you, a bisexual male werewolf. The brother of a prominent politician. Of a lesbian prominent politician. Could you have imagined that fifteen years ago, that we would be here?”

Derek shakes his head. “I remember when Prop 8 passed. I remember when DOMA passed.”

Stiles snorts, shucking off his boxers. “You’re old.”

“Shush.”

“Well, at least there’s progress. We could make some homophobe make our cake.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “This is California. And why would you want to put yourself through that?”

Stiles sighs, stepping into the shower and moving so Derek can get in too. “Fine. And if you decide you don’t want to do this—”

“I want to do this.”

Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s chest, and Derek grabs it, holding it there. “If you decide you don’t want to do this, tell me. I don’t want you to do this just to make me happy.”

“I would do anything to make you happy. But I want this, too.”

Stiles smiles at him. “Does that mean you’ll tell Lydia how we got engaged?”

“Oh no, that’s all your job. I have to tell Laura.”

“I’ll switch.”

“And Peter.”

Ick. “Nope, never mind, switching back.” Derek laughs, giving him a kiss. “Wait, if Laura’s so important, does she know the President? Can we invite the President? Or at least get an expensive consolation present when they inevitably decline?”


End file.
